The First Quarter Quell
by On A Rocketship To Pigfarts
Summary: How would you feel if everything you thought you knew fell apart in an instant? If everyone you loved betrayed you? Well, ask Hestia Underwood. She knows. The 25th Hunger Games, the first Quater Quell, designed to show the people that their decisions caused their children's pain...It ended up doing much more... How do you compete when you're not sure you even want to go home?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! I just wanted to clear up the fact that about a year ago I uploaded this story but after the 2nd chapter I deleted all my stories in a moment of fanfiction crisis :P (It's like a mid-life crisis fanfiction style) Anyways if you already read this somewhere, that's why. Hopefully you enjoy this fanfiction. Let the 25th Hunger Games begin... haha, I've always wanted to say that xD**

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"Hestia Underwood" At the sound of my name, everything around me suddenly speeds up, but my brain is working in slow motion. I am hoisted up on to the stage before I can even ask myself "Why?"

I don't deserve this! I have always been polite to people, helped them, befriended them… Then something in the crowd catches my attention and explains everything to me. Jayde's smirk as I am introduced. Her angelic blue eyes, her flowing blond hair, no trace of hardship on her pretty features, without mentioning she's the mayor's favourite daughter. She told me she would get me, only three weeks ago, but I hadn't dreamed she meant like this.

She did this to me; she wouldn't have had any trouble too. Maybe rigged the vote, but that's unlikely, probably bribed everyone into voting for me, with her words that could move mountains everyone would've listened. Everyone…

I scan the crowd, baffled by the number of faces that look down in guilt at what they have done. Celia Greene the women whose two children I had help save from pneumonia only last winter. Mr. Rory, the elderly crippled man whom I would practically carry to the market every day, because it pains me to see him walk with that awful limp.

I'm shocked that even some of my closest friends avert their eyes in shame, as I look at them for comfort.

Betrayal.

The word rings in my head making me dizzy. Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal. Everything around me is screaming this word, from the ruffle of the leaves, to the sound the opening of the envelope makes as the name of my fellow tribute is revealed.

"Xander Hood" I had almost forgotten that we were two to be betrayed today, and as I watch the young boy make his way up the stairs dragging his handicapped leg with the help of his crutches, I feel like I got the better end of the stick.

Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal.

The word reflects off of every part of the boy's expression. District 7 had betrayed us both, and as he takes his place on stage next to me I can't help but put my arm around him to protect him from the backstabbing crowd.

"It's going to be okay." I murmur to him, though I don't believe it myself, and the hurt in my voice is less than concealed. I turn my back to the crowd that was once my friends, my home, my hope, and before being properly introduced as District 7's two tributes the boy and I walk straight into the Justice building, abandoning them there, like they have abandoned us.

The Peacekeepers, help us to our rooms, though I don't let anyone touch me, who knew who had voted for me, for my death. My neighbours, my teachers, my friends… names of people flash into my brain as I wonder if they might've voted for me.

The door creaks open and my mother walks in closely followed by my brothers and father. I am about to throw my arms around her when she says something that makes my blood freeze and my heart ache and my mind explode.

"I voted for you." She sobs. I stop dead in my tracks.

"What?" I ask in disbelief.

"I voted for you, we all did." I must've fainted then because the next thing I remember is being hoisted into a chair.

"I'm so sorry, honey." My father tries to grab my hand but I pull away.

"We had no choice." My mother says in between tears. "She said she would destroy our lives."

"So instead, you decided to destroy mine… for you sake! Without telling me! For a bluff out of some stupid pest's mouth" I croak.

"I'm sure you can still make it home." Insisted my father without any conviction.

"What home? I have no home anymore." and with that I shut the door behind what used to be the people I loved the most in the world, but were now the people who had orchestrated my death. No! I think, the Capitol has orchestrated my death… but the lack of courage and selflessness in my family members have sent me straight into their trap, and there was no turning back now.

No one else comes to disturb my last hours in District 7. I am bored in my room, so I try to leave but find the door locked. I take out my hair pin, my red hair falling instantly to my shoulders. I use it to open the door, only to find two Peacekeepers guarding the other side.

"What are you doing? If you try to escape we'll-

"What? Kill me? Oh, no I was so looking forward to my last weeks of life, what a shame! I just want some air! OK?"

"We must at least escort you." He answers a little baffled by my outburst.

"Fine!" I am walking towards the balcony to my left when I am stopped by the heartbreaking scene in front of me. The Peacekeepers are pulling a young woman out of the room.

"I love you Xander, never forget that!" she cries as the Peacekeepers drag her off her son.

"I love you too, mom!" the child tells her, no tears in his voice, being strong, for her sake. A man is also in the room, kneeling so that he is at the same height as his son, I can tell he is his father because they look so much alike.

"You never know, maybe they'll fix your leg up in the Capitol." He tells his son.

"Maybe." The hope in his voice is heartbreaking. "And I'm smart!' he smiles. "Maybe, I'll outsmart the other tributes."

"And you're small." Jokes his father. "You can run between those giants' legs and they won't even notice."

Now that the Peacekeepers have gotten the shrieking mother out of the room they make their way back as the father rushes his goodbyes.

"Remember that we'll always be in your heart."

"Dad, don't go." The boy pleads.

"I have to son, but I- I love you, okay! Never forget that! Be strong." the scene is more than I can take, between the sobbing mother in the corner, the father telling his son he'll always be there and the son obviously torn between letting out his emotions and being strong for his mother.

"STOP!" I yell. Everyone freezes, except Xander's mother who is still shaking uncontrollably in a corner. "Don't you people have a heart?" I yell at the Peacekeepers.

"But the rules…" starts one of them.

"Who cares about stinking rules? Isn't it enough that you are already tearing this family apart, can't you let them have at least a few more minutes of privacy!"

"But-"

"They can take my time with my family for all I care! Not like I really want those minutes anyways!"

"S-Sure." Says the Peacekeeper as he lets the parents back in the room. The mother gives me a grateful look before hugging her son, one more time. Does she know, or is she trying not to think about the fact that in a week's time I'll be trying to kill her son? The door closes behind them and I make my way to the balcony. I spent a few minutes looking down to the District I used to call home. The trees that make up our industry, the market where I grew up, I can even see the marks of my clearing, where I would spend some of my days… the clearing… the reason why I'm here.

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_I'm sitting against my tree, sketching out some flowers and birds. I should be working. Those trees don't cut themselves, right. If I am found I will probably get a public whipping of some sort, but I don't mind too much, no one will find me here... or so I think..._

"_Hey! What are you doing?" the voice startles me, I am up on my feet, axe in hand, in a second._

"_Wow! Calm down! I won't hurt you." A boy with curly brown hair and eyes matching the green of the trees is standing a few meters away, Seth, Jayde's boyfriend, or so she says, I never actually saw them together. I relax, not a Peacekeeper. "What are you doing?" he asks again, the sweat dripping down his chest, visible because of his open shirt, suggest he had actually been cutting trees. _

"_Cutting trees." I tell him._

"_Very funny, I don't think you'll be cutting many trees holding your axe like that." I look down and find I am holding it the wrong way round. _

"_You don't know how I cut trees." I tell him hoping he'll think I'm an idiot and leave me alone. _

"_That's true," I can see he's not buying it and just playing along for his amusement. "But let me show you a more efficient way of cutting trees." He walks up to me, the sunlight making him glow. _

"_You're dripping in sweat." I tell him, "It's kind of disgusting."_

"_That's what happens when you actually work." He laughs. He pulls me by the hand. "The first thing you do is find a tree that is allowed to be cut, which are the ones with the red marks on them." I already know all this, and he knows that I know, because our age group learned this together when we were about seven. He is just making fun of my bad lying skills. "Now you take your axe like this." He takes my hand, places the axe in it. "And you swing like this." And with that he swings my arm, purposely missing the trunk of the tree, resulting in our fall, I land on him. _

"_Well, that worked great." I laugh as we are both rolling on the floor. I always loved sarcasm. _

"_What if we do something I'm good at." He says._

"_You're actually good at something?" I laugh._

"_You'd be surprised." He smiles, obviously planning something mischievous._

"_Then, go ahead, surprise me! What is it you want to do?" he grabs me by the waist rolls me around, I'm not quite sure how, but in less than a second he his lying on top of me. His face a few centimetres from mine._

"_Make out." I laugh._

"_Aren't you Jayde's boyfriend?" I ask. He hoists himself off me._

"_Has she really been telling people that?"_

"_So, it isn't true." _

"_No! Hell no! She's a narcissistic bitch!"_

"_No, really!? I though she was such an angel!" I say sarcastically. "With the backstabbing and bitch slapping and all…" _

"_Oh, right! You guys used to be best friends."_

"_Yeah, until I supposedly stole her imaginary 4__th__ grade boyfriend."_

"_I was her imaginary 4__th__ grade boyfriend…"_

"_Oh, so you were real?"_

"_Well… I think so." He laughs. "I broke up with her though."_

"_Well, anyways she found me one day after school and slapped me, and we got into a fist fight."_

"_I don't think you can really call that fist fight. I was there. It was more like a beating. You grabbed her and pinned her to the wall and punched her repeatedly. You loose your temper easily, don't you?"_

"_I do not!" I protest, but he just laughs. "So, you're not her boyfriend?"_

"_Not since fourth grade, I'm not. Does that mean we can make out?"_

"_Dude, you don't just go up to random girls and ask them to make out!" _

"_For one, who said you were just a random girl, and two, what do I do then?" He was now closing in on me again. _

"_I-I don't know." His hands were on my waist again, this time pulling me up towards him._

"_How about this?" he whispers before pressing his lips against mine. My mind is dizzy and my lips are burning, every part of my body that meets his is burning. Not a bad burn, a nice warm fire, like one of the ones we make in the winter in our chimneys, except more intense. My hands are in his hair, and his are running up and down my back, after a minute of this we both break apart gasping for air._

"_So… how did I do?" he asks, panting a little. _

"_Hmm… it was kinda wet, with the sweat mixing with the saliva and all…" he looks confused. "I'm just kidding, I guess there is one thing you can do." He smiles triumphantly, before swooping down and stealing another kiss, this time just a simple peck on the lips, but still, at the contact of his lips the burning feeling is back and I'm longing for more. _

"_It's getting late!" we should probably get back, he helps me up and again the contact of his skin sends sparks up my arm. He lets go but I hold on a fraction of a second longer and he raises his eye brow. I quickly let go._

"_You're blushing." But it isn't said mockingly, more like he's happy about it._

"_I never blush." I tell him._

"_Well, you are now." and he swivels me around before giving me a lingering kiss, that makes my head spin._

_That night I go to bed the happiest girl in the whole of Panem, not even worried about the Quarter Quell announcement that had occurred that evening. However the following morning I'm greeted by Jayde and a bunch of her friends who pounce on me. They pull on my hair and one of the crazy idiots scratches me, that's when Jayde tells me she would get me._

_As I got to the forest that day, Seth grabs my arm and turns me around. He brushes my red hair behind my ears so that the scratch mark is visible._

"_What happened to your cheek?" he asks._

"_Nothing… I was attacked by my cat."_

"_You don't have a cat."_

"_How did you- did I say my cat, I meant a cat, in the streets." I hide the scratch with my hair. "Listen Seth, I don't think it's a good idea if we talk anymore." He frowns._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I mean, we can't talk anymore." It kind of pains me to do this._

"_Can we still make out?" he asks smiling, thinking it's a joke._

"_I'm not kidding, Seth. It's best if we just, pretend that yesterday never happened."_

"_I don't understand, Hestia." But I'm gone, axe in hand, looking for a big tree where I can take all my anger out. The unfairness of it all making my blood boil; I'm not usually one to follow the rules or do what others tell me, but with Jayde you never know…now I know…_

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"Hestia!" I spin around, someone had come to say goodbye, Seth! He rushes on the balcony but before I let him take me in his arm, I stop him.

"Did you vote for me Seth?" he frowns.

"Of course not! Why would I do that?" I let myself fall in his arms, at least someone hadn't betrayed me "I'm so sorry! It's my fault! Jayde did this to you, and it's my fault!" the pain in his voice made me hurt inside.

"No, Seth! It isn't your fault, and don't you believe that for one second."

We stayed like this, in each other's arms for a while before the Peacekeepers told me it was time to get on the train. I looked at Seth in alarm. He kissed me one last time, on the forehead, and the Peacekeepers shove me down to the train station, with Xander who had made his final goodbyes to his parents and who seemed just as lost as me. They pushed us through the crowd of people on the platform into the Capitol train.

"Keep your head up Xander," I tell the little boy, "Don't let them see your fear."

"Are you scared?" He asks looking up at me.

"Scared as hell!" I say and for some reason I grab his hand, and we walk into the train together.

"Hello! I'm Franz and I'm your escort!" the overly joyful voice that didn't fit the gloomy atmosphere came from the man with the electric blue hair and over ecstatic expression. The same man who had read our names from the envelopes.

"And this is Tracie your mentor."

"Hello kids." A young woman in her thirties is sitting down on one of the couches, smiling sadly at us. This woman, I realize, is the only person capable of getting me out of there alive… but do I really want to?

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**Hope you enjoyed. Please review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Here's chapter 2 Hope you enjoy :D**

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"Do you want a glass of milk?" The question, directed to me, jolts me out of my hours spent in a nightmare-like trance. It had started right after getting on the train and during it I hadn't spoken a single world, with the exception of a dazed "Hullo!" I threw at my escort, Franz and mentor, Tracie before stumbling off to the bathroom, where I spilled my guts out for half an hour.

"Do you want a glass of milk?" Franz repeats, maybe realizing I was now conscious, or maybe just being overly pushy like all Capitol people are said to be. A glass of milk? He must be kidding; there is just something profoundly wrong with the question. For some reason, the idea of discovering the faces of people whose sole goal in life is now to kill me doesn't mix well with the familiarity of warm milk. I dismiss his offer shaking my head ever so slightly.

Truth is, the glass of milk gets to me because that's what my mother used to bring up to my bed when I was feeling down, usually the days following or leading up to the reaping. If today had been a usual reaping day, I would probably be on my chair, back at home with my father, mother and brothers, watching recaps of the reapings on our old broken down TV, a glass of warm milk in my hands. Instead, I'm here sitting on the most comfortable couch I have ever sat on, waiting to see the faces of twenty-two teenagers, who, with the possible exception of one, will all be dead in three weeks time. The Games have suddenly taken a whole new perspective in my life.

I shouldn't be here, scared and alone, I should be at home, with my family and a glass of warm milk. My family who betrayed me, I try to tell myself, but I can't help wishing I were with them. With my mom, and her laughter that would light up a room. With my dad, with his words of wisdom no one really paid attention to. With my older brothers, Callum and Jason, who got on my nerves all the time, but who were also my favourite shoulders to cry on. With Seth, the only person who didn't betray me, the only person worth fighting for, the person who changes the way I want to go into the Games, fighting. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't bother, but then again, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here.

Xander makes his way into the room, dragging his bad leg behind him. He has been so much stronger than me today, where I broke down throwing up, he didn't even flinch. It pains me to see how frail he looks now, in nothing but a plain white t-shirt and a pair of shorts. His arms and legs look as fragile as toothpicks, so that it is bewildering that he is even capable of holding himself up with the crutches. I realize that his crippled foot isn't his only handicap. The fingers of his right hand don't function properly, making him unable to hold an object in that hand, his left eye tends to drowse off in any direction and he is ever so slightly hunched back from all this time spent bent over his crutches. Yet psychologically he is so strong, making up for all his lack in physical strength, and in the arena psychological strength is just as important as physical.

I remember, last year, when I was fifteen; the arena had been purposely designed to play with the tributes minds. It was a large, dark cave, with many terrifying traps. A lot of the tributes ended up killing themselves in fits of terror or simply exposing their whereabouts by screaming hysterically and have their throats slit by one of the tributes still sane enough to hold a weapon. The victor that year had been a young girl, the youngest of the tributes, who had managed to block out the mind games the Gamemakers had concocted for her and disguising herself as a sort of un-dead child, freaked out the other tributes who went completely insane. I heard the crowd in the Capitol had loved that year in particular, but to us back home it had been especially horrible, because the boy tribute from our district had been in my class at school. In fact, if I remember correctly, he had been Seth's best friend.

Watching that boy, who I only knew from his intelligent remarks in history class, battle to the death had been excruciatingly hard, so I hate to imagine what it feels like to watch your son, daughter, brother, sister or cousin, battle to come home. I realize if I come home, twenty three others will die, and their families will mourn, and be broken. I stop myself, these aren't the kind of things I should be thinking going into the arena. This is no time for compassion.

All these thoughts make my mind spin and I am so thankful when the screen turns on, but the relief of not having to face my thoughts only lasts seconds because, soon enough, the recaps of the reapings start flashing on the screen. They always start with District 1 working their way up.

In District 1-and all career districts- the reaping was much more like an election than back home. A few contenders had put up banners and posters, asking for votes. These kids want to be in that arena, and that isn't good news for me. I watch as a woman with purple skin calls up two radiant teenagers from the crowd, both big, both scary.

District 2 and 4 are the same display whereas District 3 is a little more normal, no banners or flyers begging for votes there, but the result seems just as scary. The male tribute from the latter has arms thicker than Jayde's brain.

Then came Districts 5 and 6, then us, my dinner almost makes a reappearance when I see a flash of Jaydes blond hair as the camera follows Xander to the stage. The commentator makes some snappy comment about our early departure off the stage, and then comesDistrict 8, 9 and 10 followed by 11 and 12.

A pattern started to form in the Districts' choices of tributes; either they chose a very athletic large person who had a shot at winning, like the boy from District 3 with his bone-crushing arms, or they chose a person who they wanted to get rid of, who was the weak link in their society, like the girl from District 6 who was missing an arm, or Xander. Of course there were a couple of exceptions like me, or the boy from 10 who had caught my eye for turning his back to the crowd as he waited to be dismissed, and the girl from 9 who just appeared to be kind of lost. Neither of us seem like great contenders, but neither of us seem like handicaps either. Maybe they have been chosen out of bad luck or because nobody liked them.

As the anthem fades, my stomach is threatening to spill its content all over the carpet again. Franz starts to go on and on about how this year is a special year, and the tributes seem very strong. All I got from his irritating monologue was, "You're going to die, but you're special because you were betrayed by everyone you love. You look weak and ugly, but oooh, look at how muscular and sparkly all the other tributes are!" How motivating!

He eventually leaves the room because of some face cream emergency or something, and now it is Tracie's turn to pep talk. Tracie, in an unsettling way, reminds me of my mother. Her long brown hair, her signature District 7 mud green eyes, even the way she talks, softly, calmly. All of these similarities aren't helping my brain focus, so I try to focus more on the things she has different to my mother; the bags under her eyes indicate many sleepless nights, she also has weird way of always running her left hand up and down her right forearm, sometime as if she were trying to dig something out. I also realize for the first time that one of her legs is a fake leg, probably an injury from the Games.

She speaks for a while of the arena, dos and don'ts, getting to water; I am not paying to much attention.

"Good luck!" she finally says as she leaves, she gives me a quizzical look but I just stare on through.

"She's nice enough." Xander speaks up.

"I guess." I shrug, I don't know where to place her, there's something about her that irritates me, but I'm not sure what yet. Xander and I sit in silence a while and he finally decides to get up; it takes him about five minutes just to get off the couch. I watch silently as he struggles to get on his feet. He stumbles to grab his crutches. He's almost at the door when his left foot, the handicapped one, gives a weird little jerk and I watch as the child crumbles to the floor, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. In seconds I'm at his side, pulling the boy up. His face is filled with tears, not of sadness, but of frustration. I manage to get him sitting on the floor, his legs sprawled in front of him like if independent from his body. He just furiously wipes the ever flowing tears off his cheeks. I just awkwardly pat his back; I'm not too good when it comes to crying people.

"It isn't fair!" he manages between raging sobs. "I try and try, but I just get knocked down over and over again!"

"It's going to be okay." I try to consol him, but even I can tell I suck at this.

"Do you know how it feels not to have the total control over your body?"

"No," I admit, but then I remember my father saying something about another person's misery making another ones joy, so I decide to try that out. "But at least you have a loving and supporting family!"

"So do you!"

"Yup, one who votes for my participation in the Games." I blurt out, now I'm starting to cry, too.

"They did?" he asks shocked, "It doesn't mean they don't support you." He tries to assure me.

"Right! I saw your parents Xander, that is support! That is love!" Wrong move, he's crying again.

"Love that I'll never see again because of these stupid legs!"

"At least you know it is there!" I sob.

"At least you have a small chance of getting your family back!" he answers furiously crying.

"Did you see the other tributes?" I ask.

"Hestia, you spent your life chopping trees! You have as much muscle as most of the tributes!"

"Most of the tributes won't cut it! Only one comes out!" I shriek.

"And it won't be me!" he lets out, breaking down even more.

"Or me!" I let out. "But I don't give a rat's ass! I have nothing to go back to! At least you'll die knowing someone will mourn you!"

"They'll mourn you too!"

"Only out of guilt!"

"Stop amplifying the situation!"

"Amplifying the situation? All my friends and family voted me off to be slaughtered by the Capitol! I'm not amplifying the situation!" And after that we sit silently both sobbing angrily. I guess District 7 didn't get the best tributes this year, two hysterical lunatics, crying sprawled on the floor, one crippled and the other, not sure she is even going to try to win. Hurray for District 7, I guess we do make the crappiest choices.

"How did it happen?" I ask him, "Your leg." It probably won't help his state of mind but I'm curious.

"Three years ago, I was in the woods, we were three, my best friends and I. We were making our way to camp, where we were meant to be assigned a tree to cut down. Out of nowhere an enormous oak tree fell on us. It wasn't mean to be cut that day, someone had made a mistake. A mistake that caused my friends there lives and me my leg." His story is over and he just stares at the wall.

"So, in a way, you were lucky to get out alive." He just gives a sad, dark, laugh.

"Yeah, lucky, you could call it that."

"And, like your father said, they could fix your legs in the Captiol, with all their technology. Making you lucky to be voted off there, and getting that opportunity." He just looks at me like I'm mad.

"Yep, and they'd first want me to win the Games. They have never healed a crippled before the Games begun; it is seen as an unfair advantage. I'd have to win the Games for the Capitol to heal my legs."

"Well, then we'll have to make sure you get lucky enough to win the Games!" I say, and in the reflection that I can see of myself in the shiny glass door, I see a spark of insanity light up in my eyes.

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**PLEASE REVIEW THANK YOU!**


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